


And It's Like the Sky is New

by stillscape



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 21:15:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4153203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillscape/pseuds/stillscape
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU for (the end of) episode 3x06, "Indianapolis." Written for Ash's birthday; she asked for "relentless fluff" and "super awkward Ben."</p>
            </blockquote>





	And It's Like the Sky is New

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashisfriendly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashisfriendly/gifts).



> Thanks to diaphenia, whose beta services I own.

***

The smell really was unbelievable. Godawful. 

“You know what would make you feel better?” Leslie asked, while Ben was still crouched over in the parking lot, trying not to gag. “Pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” His brain automatically added maple syrup to the teriyaki hairpiece scent. This, unsurprisingly, did not help his nausea. 

“Pancakes,” she said, firmly. “Come on, everybody. Late night pancake party!”

“Is your house clean enough—” Ann started, but Leslie quickly interrupted.

“Midnight pancake party at Ann’s! That’s okay, right, Ann?”

Ann paled. “Leslie—”

“Of course it is,” Leslie insisted. “I don’t want you to be alone tonight.” 

Donna swept in, grabbed Ann by the upper arm, and marched her towards the corner of the parking lot. “Come on,” she said. “In the Benz. You need the luxury treatment tonight.” 

“I’m in,” said Tom, at once. “Pancakes. Ann-cakes. I’ma swing by my pad, get the gourmet maple syrup. See you in twenty.” He left.

“Where are April and Andy?” asked Leslie, and Ben jerked his thumb towards a corner of the parking lot. “Is that—oh. _Oh_. Okay, they look busy.” She sighed, and shook her head. “Ann wouldn’t want Andy over anyway. God, that was dumb, I can’t invite Ann’s ex to her house for a getting-over-Chris pancake party…” 

Why were they going to Ann’s and not Leslie’s, again? This wasn’t the first off-hand remark he’d ever heard about her house being somewhat unusual, but…well, it wasn’t his to wonder about. 

“See you guys tomorrow, then,” he said—but before he could even turn back to his car, Leslie had grabbed his hand. 

“You’re coming with us.” 

“I am?” 

“Don’t you want to?” Suddenly, Ben realized he was staring at her hand, wrapped around his. It was not, he reminded himself, as though they had never made physical contact before. They had made a lot of physical contact. Just last week, after they’d gotten the news about Leslie’s commendation, another three steps had been added to the Master Handshake. So it didn’t mean anything, that they were alone in a darkened parking lot, holding hands.

“Well, I just figured,” Ben said, clearing his throat a little, “that, uh, you know, Chris just dumped Ann, and since I’m his—you know, we work together, and—figured I wasn’t invited—”

That earned him one of Leslie’s frustrated scrunchy nose faces, and a tug on his sleeve. “Of course you’re invited,” she said. “Screw Chris. He left Pawnee, and he broke Ann’s heart. But you’re still here.”

 _For the time being_ , he thought, but felt it best not to interrupt Leslie. Not when she was saying something pleasant.

“And that makes you one of us.” She grinned, but it quickly turned to a frown. “Unless you don’t like pancakes, in which case you’re dumb. Then you’re not invited.” 

“I like pancakes.” And, well, being part of the Parks department, a feeling that seemed increasingly inconvenient. 

Leslie cleared _her_ throat a little, released his sleeve, and stepped back. “Okay then,” she said, in her most professional voice. “Are you okay to drive?”

“Completely sober,” he assured her. 

“So I’ll see you at Ann’s.” She exhaled. “You smell terrible, by the way.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Like bulgogi mothballs or something.” 

“Nope,” he said. “Tom’s dreams.” 

Leslie’s nose screwed up. “Tom’s dreams smell terrible.” 

In a fit of inspired Pawnee citizenship (combined with an equally inspired fit of screw-Chris-ness), Ben decided to swing by the Food ‘N’ Stuff on his way to Ann’s. 

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Tom remarked, when he finally arrived at the house. Tom, Ann, and Donna were all seated at Ann’s kitchen table, working on—

“Mimosas,” Donna announced. She poured one from a pitcher, and slid it across the table to him. “What’s in the bag?”

“Really greasy breakfast sausage and a can of whipped cream.” 

From the kitchen, Leslie gasped. “Oh, my god. How’d you know we needed that stuff?”

“I’ve, uh…” He glanced at Ann, slumped dramatically over a stack of placemats. “I thought Chris might have had a say in recent grocery shopping.”

“God, you’re so right.” Ann pushed her glass a few inches across the table, without looking. “Donna, refill,” she ordered. “I’m entirely too sober.” 

“So do you want help?” Ben asked, as Donna poured Ann another round. He carried his Food ‘N’Stuff bags into the kitchen. Leslie had taken her blazer off, and put an apron on. Clearly, she was doing all the work. She was also slightly shorter than usual. A glance downwards, which he hoped was a subtle one, revealed that Leslie’s heels had been exchanged for a pair of red-and-green Christmas slipper socks. 

“Nah, I’m good. Sit down. Everything’s under control.” 

“Yeah, sit.” Tom patted the empty chair next to him, and Ben obeyed. “It’s your turn.” 

“My turn?”

“Worst breakup story. Go.” 

“Oh.” Shit. “I, uh…”

Ann slammed her now-empty glass on the table. “Don’t even bother. Leslie’s got you beat.” 

“Ow!” Leslie yelled. 

“Oh, shit, Les, I’m sorry. What happened? Are you okay?” 

“Fine. I’m fine. Just shut my thumb in the silverware drawer.” 

“It’s one of those nights,” Ann muttered. She held up her glass again. “Donna, hit me.” 

Donna smiled. “With pleasure.” 

***

Somehow, no one managed to leave. 

Somehow, the night turned into a game of Monopoly (Tom was terrible, Ann distracted, Leslie distracted by Ann’s being distracted, and Donna surprisingly adept) and watching late-night infomercials for juicers, which sparked a good, healthy round of diatribes against Chris’s eating habits. 

Somehow, when Leslie finally started trying to put Ann to bed, Ben wound up doing all the dishes instead of going back to his hotel. 

Somehow, going back to his hotel sounded unbearably depressing. 

So did going back to Indianapolis and back on the road, right now. 

***

Ann’s backyard was a marvelous place for stargazing, or maybe tonight was just an unusually good night for it. Part of Ben wished he’d discovered that before now. The sun would be coming up before too much longer, and if he was going to spend all night at Ann’s house for reasons he didn’t fully understand, he might as well have invested more time in admiring the sky. Maybe even months of time, instead of the mere two weeks he had left. 

He heard the screen door creak open and closed, and a moment later, some shuffling footsteps approached his kiddie pool. 

“Hey,” said Leslie’s voice. “What are you doing all the way over here? Do you still smell like Tom’s dreams?” 

“I’m avoiding the dew.”

She climbed in the pool and sat down next to him, stretching her feet—now sporting what he assumed were Ann’s gardening clogs—in front of her. Most of the rest of Leslie was covered in an oversized men’s flannel shirt. “It’s still damp.” She sniffed. “But you smell normal again.” 

“Well, yeah, it’s damp,” he conceded. The comments about his odor could probably be ignored. “But it’s drier than the grass. Why exactly does Ann have a kiddie pool?”

Leslie shrugged, and rolled the shirtsleeves up another turn. “It was Andy’s, when he lived here. So was this shirt. I guess she never got rid of some things.”

“I really can’t picture the two of them together.” 

“It was a pretty lopsided relationship.” She fiddled with the shirtsleeves a bit more, and let out a sigh. “So was this one with Chris, huh? At least she’s finally asleep.”

They both looked up at the sky. 

“I can’t believe it’s almost dawn,” Leslie muttered. “This has been the longest night ever.”

She looked exhausted, and Ben immediately felt bad—he’d outstayed his welcome by several hours, probably. “I should probably go.” 

“Nah. Stay. I’m not going to sleep.” 

“You should sleep.” 

Leslie shook her head—just once, but with conviction. “No, I want to be up in case Ann needs anything. So stay. I could use the company.”

“Okay,” he agreed, entirely too quickly. This was, he considered, an entirely ridiculous reason to be in Ann’s backyard at four o’clock in the morning—waiting for an exhausted half-invitation to just stick around. But if Leslie was specifically requesting his company…

“Are Tom and Donna still passed out on the couch?”

“Yeah, that’s why I moved out here. They both snore _really_ loudly.” 

“Well,” Leslie sighed, “there are worse places to be.” Though the kiddie pool was small, she managed to find enough space to lie flat on her back, knees bent, arms…she couldn’t seem to find a place for her arms, and after a few moments of struggling, wound up with her hands behind her head. 

Ben tried to convince himself he didn’t want to adopt the same position—he wouldn’t even be able to, probably, given that Leslie barely fit—or that he didn’t want to pull Leslie’s head, or her upper body, or as much of her as would fit really, into his lap. It was a pointless mental exercise; of course he wanted to do all those things. 

He settled for asking if she was comfortable, instead. 

“I’m okay,” she said. “Are you?” 

He wasn’t particularly comfortable—in fact, he felt like a pretzel with muscle spasms—but it didn’t much matter. “I’m fine.” 

They went back to stargazing, and the silence was comfortable even if their seating arrangements weren’t. 

“Hey,” Leslie said, after a few minutes. “Can I ask you something?” 

“Sure.” 

“Why aren’t you seeing anyone?” 

Now there was a question he couldn’t exactly answer. Well, he _could_ , but a line like _Because I don’t think you’re interested_? Nope. But some form of mild self-deprecation typically worked as a diversionary tactic, so he went with that, and a preemptory clear of his throat. 

“What, it’s not obvious?” 

“Not really, no.” 

Maybe it was Ben’s imagination, but her voice sounded…quieter, more thoughtful, than usual. He swallowed. “Well, we’ve been working fourteen hours a day—” 

Leslie shook her head. “That’s not a good reason.” 

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” she said. “If the right person came along, you’d make the time. Wouldn’t you?” 

Well, they’d been working fourteen hours a day together, and they were currently sitting in a kiddie pool in her best friend’s backyard. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “I would.” 

“So.” 

“So?”

“So you haven’t answered the question.” 

Ben took a deep breath and looked away from her, back at the sky. It was finally beginning to turn pink at the edges. “Okay, look,” he started. “You know the relationship Chris and Ann had? He’s—this isn’t the first time something like this has happened.”

“Waltz into town, break Ann’s heart—”

“Not Ann specifically, and usually without breaking anyone’s heart, but yeah.”

“Okay, but we weren’t really talking about Ann and Chris.”

“No, but the point is, Chris can arrive somewhere, charm everyone, have a month-long relationship, end it when we leave, and declare it literally the most amazing relationship he’s ever had. I…can’t do that.” 

“You can’t waltz into town, pick up a girl—no, I guess I can see that.”

He snuck a glance over at Leslie, then, and couldn’t help imagining the Leslie he’d first met—the insistent, demanding, unrelenting tornado. In his mind, she was perched on a bench as she had been in the Snakehole at April’s birthday party, dismissing a long line of potential suitors for failing to live up to her standards with a wave of her hand. 

“Hey,” he said. “Believe it or not, I don’t make a terrible first impression on everyone I meet.”

She turned pink, and scrambled upright, folding her legs underneath her. “I didn’t mean _that_.”

Ben chuckled. “I know.” He went back to staring at the horizon, trying to formulate something reasonably articulate. “Long distance works for a while, but not—not forever. At some point, either the long distance part has to end or the relationship does, and for whatever reasons, it’s always been the relationship.” 

The Leslie-tornado popped back into his head, then. She swept cheerfully through Pawnee, repairing things rather than destroying them (as most tornadoes were wont to do), while the line of suitors was simply unable to keep up. One, dressed in a police uniform, abruptly leapt to a cartoon Pacific coast, and lodged himself in between palm trees and oranges. 

California was one thing. Indianapolis—well, all of Indiana, really—was another thing, a much closer thing. Ben wondered, not for the first time, if Leslie would consider—

“I couldn’t do it,” she declared.

“Long distance?” Well, it was hardly a surprise. He’d imagined that response more often than not. 

“No, I’ve done long distance. I meant the job. I don’t think I could stand moving around that much.” 

He shrugged. “You get used to it.” 

“Really?” Leslie’s eyes dropped, and she started scowling at her feet. “So when this is over, and you head back out on the road, that’s it? You just move on and forget everything?” 

“No, that’s not…” Damn it. “You get used to suitcases and motel rooms and insults. You don’t get used to—to Harvest Festivals.”

“You’d better not.” 

“Leslie, I don’t think I could forget Pawnee if I tried.” 

“The last guy I dated long distance kind of turned out to be a jerk,” Leslie muttered—more to herself than to him. She was _tired_ , Ben reminded himself. She was tired and he was tired and the words _the last guy I dated long distance_ did not necessarily imply she wanted to try dating anyone else long distance, so there was absolutely no sense in reading too much into this conversation. 

On the other hand, they were sitting inches away from each other, in a plastic kiddie pool, at sunrise. 

“You know, I’ve been thinking a lot tonight,” she said. “While I was taking care of Ann.” 

He waited. 

“I’ve been really focused on the Harvest Festival.” 

When she didn’t continue, Ben said, “Of course you have.” 

“And you have, too.” She took a deep breath. “And—and I wanted to say thank you for that.” 

“It’s my job.” 

Leslie shook her head. “It’s not. I mean, it is, but you’ve been doing way more than your job. Look at dumb Chris—he went back to Indy before the Festival even happened, but you’re still here, and—okay, I’m not sure how to say this, so I’m just gonna say it.” 

To Ben’s surprise, she put a hand on his forearm. 

“I can’t afford to let myself get distracted right now,” she continued. “My—my job depends on this. So I’ve kind of been ignoring some other aspects of my life—all of them, really. My house is even worse than normal, I haven’t had dinner with my mom in forever, I’ve barely even spent any time with Ann lately—god, if I had, maybe I could have kept her from getting hurt—that’s not the point.”

“What’s the point?” Ben asked. He’d been staring at her hand, and it was starting to make him a little dizzy, though he couldn’t rule out lack of sleep as the source of his dizziness either. 

“The point is that I’m glad you’re here. Not just tonight, but—” Her grip tightened. “ _Here_. And I think…no, I don’t _think_ , I—”

“Leslie…” His pulse throbbed, insistently, under her fingers, and he wondered if she could feel it through his jacket sleeve. If she could, did it feel desperate? 

“Screw getting distracted,” she said. “I mean—no, that came out wrong. God, I’m tired.” Leslie paused, took a deep breath, and scooted around the pool until she was facing him as much as possible. “I realized, tonight, that I would like for you to distract me.”

“Okay.”

“With your mouth,” she added. 

“Okay.” 

“I mean—only if you want to.” 

Fortunately, _Of course I want to; I’ve wanted to for what seems like forever_ could be expressed without words. 

Also fortunately, Leslie was exactly as enthusiastic about kissing as he’d dared to imagine. Not at first; the first kiss was soft, quiet without being tentative. The second included a little tongue…and then it was entirely too difficult to tell where they started and stopped, and who was responsible for what—whether she’d pulled him down on top of her, or whether he’d moved there on his own… 

Unfortunately, the wall of Ann’s plastic kiddie pool was not strong enough to support the weight of two adults. It collapsed, with a spectacularly loud reverberation, and they wound up in the damp grass, tangled in each other and the suddenly unwound sleeves of Andy’s enormous flannel shirt. 

Leslie started to laugh. “Uh-oh,” she said, scooting out from under him. 

“You okay?” They were the only words he could think of. 

She nodded. “You?” 

“Fine.” 

Leslie began rolling the sleeves back up. “Well,” she sighed, looking around at the crumpled pool and Ann’s gardening clogs, which were nowhere near her Christmas-socked feet, “this is a mess.” 

He stood up. “Yeah, I’m a little dew-soaked now.” 

“Hand me the clogs, will you?” He obliged. Leslie put them back on, stood up, brushed herself off, and glanced over her outfit. “Oh my god. I just now realized how ridiculous this looks.” 

“Leslie,” Ben said, slowly, “what are we doing?” 

“I don’t know.” But she was smiling—beaming, even—and it was, as always, infectious. “I don’t know what we’re doing.”

“Should we maybe figure that out?” 

A noise came from inside Ann’s house. A voice? Tom’s voice. Whining about something, Ben thought, although he couldn’t make out the words. They began walking back inside. 

“Want to get dinner tonight?”

“Yes,” Leslie said. “Definitely.” 

“Not at JJ’s. Like—a date.” 

She nodded. “Yes, definitely.” 

Her smile hadn’t faded one bit, and it was odd, wasn’t it, how Ben suddenly wasn’t the slightest bit tired. 

“Okay then.” 

Tom appeared in the doorframe, bleary-eyed and cranky. “What are y’all doing in the yard?” he demanded. 

“Festival planning,” said Leslie. Her face wasn’t completely straight—in fact, it wasn’t straight at all—but Tom didn’t appear to have noticed. Nor, thankfully, did he notice that they were both somewhat damp. 

“I can’t find my keys,” he whined. 

“Festival planning?” Ben muttered, when Tom had returned to the living room and started staring at Donna, apparently unsure whether it was safe to wake her to ask about the keys. 

Leslie’s shoulder twitched, and then she went very still. Ben could practically see the light bulb above her head, and wished, almost desperately, that he could kiss her again, right on the spot. 

But listening to her ideas was almost as good. 

“Absolutely,” she said, completely serious. “You know what? We should keep the Festival open late one night. It’s almost Halloween. We could put some scary stuff in the corn maze, make it like a haunted house—or maybe we could do a nighttime hayride, or some organized stargazing—”

He found her hand and squeezed it, and Leslie, meeting his gaze and his smile, squeezed back. 

***


End file.
